


Boulevard of Broken Dreams

by littlesalemwinchester74



Series: Boulevard of Broken Dreams [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesalemwinchester74/pseuds/littlesalemwinchester74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room was dark except for the emergency and seating lights glowing dimly. The stage was black. Cas was worried that Dean had changed his mind, but suddenly a spotlight clicked on, illuminating an unoccupied stool and a microphone. The audience held its breath, waiting. Cas fidgeted in his seat, nervous again that Dean had bailed but then…footsteps, and there was Dean with guitar in hand. He took his seat on the stool and, without any introduction or even a glance at the audience, he began to play.</p>
<p>Dean Winchester has always wanted to be a musician. Midway through his sophomore year in college, he took off from home and moved out to Nashville to make his dreams come true. Daddy dearest has never been on board, and that is only one of the many struggles that Dean faces. When he breaks down on the road to his last attempt at stardom, he thinks it’s all over for him…until a good Samaritan gives him a lift–and hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks (again) to Kayla (as usual) for inspiring this story. It will be AT LEAST three chapters long, probably more. I hope y'all enjoy it :D

“You need to go back to school, boy.”  
“Get a real job.”  
“You need real skills.”  
“Get your head out of the clouds.”  
“No one wants to see a sissy play love songs for other guys.”  
“You'll never make it.”  
“You'll never make it.”  
“You'll never make it.”

His father's voice played on an unending loop in his head as he drove. Dean Winchester was not a quitter, but days like today made him think about giving it all up. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he should go back to school, be a lawyer like Sam or an accountant like Adam. Find himself some blonde beauty queen trophy wife and pop out a couple kids, end up in suburbia with a Playboy subscription and a beer gut.   
Maybe he should become his father.   
The road seemed to stretch on forever in front of him, and Dean was tired. He was always tired. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep this up. When he'd left college to pursue his dreams of being a musician, he hadn't counted on it taking this long to hit the big time. He definitely hadn't planned on it being so hard—taking no after no after no. Nobody wanted him. Not big record labels, not indie labels, not little clubs looking for rookie performers...not his own family.   
Ever since Mom died, things had been strained between the Winchesters. Mary had been the glue holding them all together, and it was like her death had dissolved that bond. Dean hadn't spoken to either of his brothers in at least two months and as for Dad...well, Dean tried to avoid talking to Dad as much as he could, because he always felt like shit after.   
Dean knew he was the letdown. He was the disappointment. He was the screw-up of the family. Dad never let him forget it. There was Sam, with his beautiful wife and their beautiful baby and their beautiful (ridiculous) house and his high-powered job as a successful defense attorney. Sam had a billboard. Then there was Adam, with his beautiful wife and their beautiful baby and their beautiful (equally ridiculous) house and his high-powered job as an accountant. Adam crunched numbers for the governor. Dean's brothers were every parent's dream. But Dean? Dean was a single, 34-year-old college dropout with a month-to-month lease on a run-down one-bedroom in Nashville, a guitar, stacks of folders full of the songs he'd written, and a long list of rejections.   
Things had gotten bad.   
Well, things always seemed to be bad. Things had gotten worse.   
Dad had called early into this road trip to announce that he'd written Dean out of the will. He said that he wouldn't let his death benefit Dean's ridiculous pipe dream. That had been four hours into Dean's 29-hour drive to LA. If Dean hadn't felt like doomsday was hanging over his head before, he sure as hell did now.   
This trip to LA was kind of a last-ditch effort. A last hurrah. Dean's swan song. He was giving his dreams one last shot before he packed it all in, sold his guitar, and crawled back home with his tail between his legs to tell his father he was right. Dean had never been good at admitting defeat, so the storm cloud following him around was understandable. He didn't believe much in God, but he was praying that something would give, that he would find an open door after so many years of solid walls.   
Sixteen hours in, Dean was starting to feel the wear and tear of driving so long. He was just resolving to stop in the next town and get a cheap motel for a shower and a few hours of sleep when his engine started making a frightening rattling noise. Then the banging started and suddenly smoke was billowing out from underneath the hood. Dean struggled to keep calm as he limped the car to the shoulder, but panic was bubbling in his stomach. He put the car in park and, with a shudder and one last bang, the engine gave out.   
Dean's head thumped back against the headrest and he groaned. Could things get worse? He rubbed his tired eyes and unfolded himself stiffly from the driver's seat to take a look under the hood and see what the problem was.   
All it took was lifting the hood to know that Dean was completely and utterly boned. The amount of smoke pouring off the mangled remains of the engine block meant fatality. There was no way Dean was getting his poor little Pontiac moving again, not without some serious labor and even more serious parts. Dean groaned again and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the tears back. He was dangerously close to breaking down emotionally on his broken down car.   
When he'd gotten his emotions under better control, Dean walked around to the other end of the car. He left the hood up so the smoke would be unobstructed. He hitched himself up onto the trunk and leaned back against the shell of the car. Someone had to stop eventually, right?   
Dean sighed and closed his eyes, settling in for the wait.


End file.
